


Addendum

by eeveestho



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeveestho/pseuds/eeveestho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa never tells their story right, no matter how many times Iwaizumi tries to correct her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addendum

If anyone asked -- which they scarcely did but that didn’t stop her from telling the story -- Oikawa would tell them that Iwaizumi had loved her for as long as he had known what love was. She would sigh and laugh and flip her hair over her shoulder and tell them that he had been hopelessly in love with her and too scared to tell her since they were children. She would tell them in an undertone that, of course, she had felt the same, and wasn’t that funny? To think that they both felt that way and did nothing about it, until past college! What a waste!

Of course, if Iwaizumi was there, he would interject grumpily that no, he did _not_ in fact love her since he was seven, and to _please_ stop telling that story already. Oikawa would, of course, shush him, tell him there was “no use being shy about it now, Iwa-chan,” and continue on the conversation.

But that was the truth, no matter how many times she shushed him.

The first part of the story, he wasn’t sure about. Maybe he had loved her all his life. It was hard to put a timeline on that sort of thing. Feelings changed and developed and maybe he had spent a bit too much time when he was 12 thinking about his best friend, but it wasn’t like he realized the oddness of it at the time. It wasn’t strange to think about your best friend sometimes, he had told himself.

If those feelings for Oikawa did exist, they were explained away and summarily ignored by Iwaizumi. That was one thing he was certain of: he did not spend the last 16 years of his life _knowing_ about those feelings, and pushing them down out of fear or shame. It was out of sheer, honest ignorance. The line between friendship and love had been a vague one that he had never thought much about because it had never been particularly pressing.

Oikawa had always been the brains of the pair. She saw through people, understood how their hearts and minds worked. So, maybe she had known; maybe she had used that same sharp, analytical mind to figure out how she was feeling. Iwaizumi preferred to not think about the abstract and the emotional unless the situation absolutely demanded it, and had floated on blissful and unaware.

It wasn’t until one stormy night, when the two of them were having a sleepover -- old habits died hard -- that those feelings hit Iwaizumi like a slap in the face.

They were sitting together on the couch, partway through a Godzilla movie marathon. Oikawa was curled up against him, her feet propped up on the couch beside her. Her hair, which was grown out to past her shoulders now, was tied up in a messy bun that bounced on top of her head whenever she moved her head. She wore borrowed t-shirt and pair of sweatpants from Iwaizumi; while the shirt was baggy, the sweatpants stopped a few inches short of her ankles. Her makeup was washed off, her shoulders were stooped in a relaxed slouch, her mouth was wide open in a shameless laugh.

She was absolutely unpolished, unguarded, unbeautiful. If anyone from her office saw her on the street, they wouldn’t recognize her. 99% of the time, Oikawa was flawless and beautiful, wearing designer clothes and a sharp, close-lipped smile. The other 1% of the time, she was sitting in ratty sweats on his couch.

This was an Oikawa only Iwaizumi got to see. This was the true her: the one who hogged the bowl of popcorn and laughed at bad special effects and quoted Godzilla VS Mothra as easily as she breathed.

This was an Oikawa, he had realized, feeling his breath punch out of his lungs as Godzilla on the TV punched a building, that he absolutely, unequivocally, and without question, loved. Was in love with. Wanted to spend the rest of his life with, sitting on the couch squabbling over popcorn and watching bad sci fi movies.

And, contrary to how she liked to tell it, Iwaizumi had not spent 16 years pining over her. He had asked her out the next day. And the rest is history -- albeit a butchered history that, much to his annoyance, Oikawa refused to tell right.

But, he thought as he crossed his arms over his chest, his scowl softening, that was alright. The Oikawa he had fallen in love with was an imperfect one. She could tell strangers the imperfect story about their wonderfully perfectly imperfect love.


End file.
